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Chapter 4. The Unsolicited Offer
It was late in the afternoon of the next day when the Skipper confronted Ivy about the nipple clips she “borrowed” from him. I did not hear the initial interaction. When Rafiq and I emerged from below, there was Ivy, bare breasted, hands behind her head, facing the Skipper. James was at the helm; the breeze was stiff.
The Skipper was saying, “You need to learn to respect other people’s property – and their personal space.”
Although he was referring to his cabin space, I couldn’t help thinking that I wished he would start respecting my personal space – that is, stop taking liberties with my body.
Unwavering, Ivy looked into his eyes. The Skipper continued, “You wanted these clips. So now you can wear them.”
Ivy’s mouth hardened just a little, but she didn’t say a word. She just continued resolutely eyeing him.
The Skipper passed his fingers over her breasts. Then he started kneading them. Ivy squirmed just a little, but continued looking up into his face. I admired her mettle.
Then he took hold of her nipples and pulled upwards. Ivy grimaced and bit her lip. She was on her toes stretching her body upwards, but she kept her hands behind her head. I didn’t think I could have maintained such composure.
Finally the Skipper released her. Ivy retreated a step, breathing heavily, and bringing her hands from behind her head, partially covered her breasts with her wrists.
“Hands behind head please, while I clip your nipples,” said the Skipper.
Ivy returned her hands behind her head. With an expression of scorn, she thrust out her chest. Grasping each breast in turn, the Skipper applied a clip to each nipple. Ivy winced initially but otherwise maintained her poise. In no way did she acknowledge the presence of us onlookers.
I glanced at James. He was watching intently, with an expression of amusement. But I felt uncomfortable gaping at this spectacle. I wondered if we were invading their privacy. Maybe Rafiq and I should turn around and go back below.
I tugged lightly at Rafiq’s hand, but he ignored me. So I continued watching. I have to admit that even though I was getting along with Ivy much better than before, I could still feel a morbid fascination in watching her get punished. I wondered if she would lose her poise.
“How do your tits feel now?” asked the Skipper. “Pretty good, eh?”
Ivy made no reply.
“Now bend over and hold onto the bulkhead, arms straight out,” he said. Ivy bent over, and grasped the bulkhead, body horizontal, legs vertical. Her bikini bottom was skimpy enough that her buns were plenty exposed.
The Skipper turned to his punishment implements. There was the long cane he had made Ivy and I use on each other, and there was a whip. He took up the whip. It had a meter-long single thong at the end of a slender, stiff meter-long crop. I had not seen this one before. He seemed to have an endless supply of implements for punishing us.
He flicked it through the air a couple times. Then he flicked it across Ivy’s butt, not very hard. Ivy shifted her weight subtly but otherwise gave no acknowledgment of the stroke.
He flicked it across her again, then again, and again, progressively harder. Then he paused and said, “Let’s take down your bikini bottom. ...Just hold your position.”
He then stroked his hand over her bottom several times. He might have touched her pussy through the covering fabric; I’m not sure. Then with his hands on the sides of the bikini bottom, he slid it off her and down her legs. She stepped out of it and pushed it away with her toe.
He then stepped back and eyed her. She held her position, motionless. Then he drew back the whip and laid it hard across her butt. Then again and again, getting up a steady rhythm. Ivy was breathing hard but otherwise made no sound and not much movement. She kept her back arched, boldly presenting her bottom to whip.
I think I felt a little threatened that she could take the whip with so little fear and so much poise. I didn’t think I maintained that kind of composure. But I wondered if maybe that particular whip just didn’t hurt much. A provocative notion entered my mind that it might be okay to be whipped if it didn’t hurt so much. But I quickly dispelled the thought. I hate being whipped.
It was with vigor that the Skipper was now bringing the whip down on her legs. Ivy was squirming and gasping audibly. Finally the Skipper paused his exertions. Ivy let out a sigh and brought one hand back to feel her bottom and thighs.
“Just hold your position. We’re not done yet.”
Ivy return her hand to the bulkhead. The Skipper began feeling her. The marks left by the whip were not all that conspicuous. I wondered why she got off easy after stealing his stuff, while for a simple cooking mistake I had been whipped so hard with that beastly cat-o-nine-tails with the knotted thongs. I felt a bit resentful.
As she maintained her bent over position, the Skipper began feeling her breasts, diddling with those nipple clips, bobbing them back and forth. Now Ivy was squirming, trying to avoid his prodding hands. I think I felt a bit of satisfaction seeing her tormented to her limits – not necessarily out of malice toward Ivy, but more that she should share some of what I had been experiencing.
Then he took hold of one of the nipple clips and gave Ivy’s breast a jiggly shaking. Too much. Ivy yelped and brought one hand across to fend him off. He withdrew.
“Just had to see what kind of reaction I could get out of you this afternoon,” said the Skipper. “You take the whip really well, Ivy.”
Hearing that was disconcerting. I recognized that it stemmed from a sort of jealousy. But jealousy of Ivy while she was naked and whipped? How sick. I rebuked myself.
As I turned my thoughts to Rafiq, I realized that he was absorbed in watching the spectacle of Ivy’s punishment. That triggered even more disturbing feelings in me.
“Now spread your legs, and I’ll whip you some more,” said the Skipper. “Further apart. ...Keep going. ...That’s good. Now arch your back more.” With thong arrested against the whip handle, the Skipper tapped it on the small of Ivy’s back. “Get your bottom up there. You know you deserve this.”
Ivy’s vulva was prominently displayed. I looked at Rafiq. He was entranced, damn it.
The Skipper lashed the whip across her butt again several times. Then he started lashing Ivy’s left leg, the whip wrapping around the inside of her thigh. Ivy gasped loudly with each stroke. As the Skipper continued, Ivy was writhing with each stroke, but still she maintained her position, legs apart.
Then the Skipper lashed her hard right on the pussy. Ivy gave a screech and brought her hand back to protect herself.
“Ah, yeah,” said the Skipper. “That was a good one. Let’s do some more like that.”
“No, please no more.”
Ivy was finally reduced to begging. In one sense I was pleased that she got her comeuppance. But I was rankled that this old man would take advantage of a young woman by whipping her like that.
“Get that hand back on the bulkhead,” he ordered. Ivy nursed her pussy for a few more moments before she complied. Then he gave her another hard whip stroke, again snapping it right on the pussy.
“Ooooh... god... Don’t.” Again she brought her hand back.
“Well, how about if we have Rafiq whip you? Yeah, let’s have Rafiq whip you now.”
Ivy immediately straightened and turned. “Absolutely not. I won’t let Rafiq touch me with that whip.” She was really upset.
Rafiq interjected, “I’m not going to whip Ivy. That would be totally inappropriate now. You ought to know that.”
I was relieved that Rafiq realized how hurtful that would be for him to discipline Ivy. I knew she was carrying a lot of bitterness from their breakup.
But the Skipper persisted, “I order you to whip Ivy. And if you give me any backtalk, I’ll have you keelhauled.”
Rafiq looked at him like he was crazy. Then he shook his head and laughed. “You are suffering delusions of grandeur.”
“You mutinous punk. I’m going to lock you in the brig for the rest of the voyage.”
“You moron. This boat doesn’t have a brig.”
“I’ll lock you in the aft storage compartment.”
“Now how are you going to do that? Like ‘Oh please crawl into the storage compartment so I can lock you in.’ ...Now you listen to me, you cretin. If you don’t shut up, I may decide to stuff you in there. And don’t think I can’t do it.”
“I ought to give you a whipping.” The Skipper flicked the whip menacingly. His behavior was so erratic, so inexplicable, I was sure he must have heavily fortified himself with alcohol before confronting Ivy. I was frightened.
Rafiq eyed him calmly. “Put that thing away before you hurt yourself with it.”
The Skipper flicked the whip at Rafiq. It seemed tentative, not a hard stroke, and Rafiq blocked it with his arm. But it really pissed off Rafiq. “You son of a bitch. Now I’ve had enough of you. You know what? I’m going to throw you overboard. Right now. Maybe come back in a few hours and pick you up, if you’re still afloat.”
As the Skipper threatened with his whip, Rafiq started closing in on him. Although shorter than the Skipper, Rafiq is strong and agile. If he wanted to throw the Skipper overboard, I was sure he could do it.
I looked at James, at the helm. He was looking forward into the distance, assiduously avoiding apparent regard for what was happening.
But I was frightened. “Please stop, both of you.”
“Stay out of this, Jenny,” said Rafiq. “The Skipper needs to soak his head.”
This was too much. Throwing a drunken old man overboard seemed really dangerous – in this wind it would take time to bring the boat around for him. I had to distract them somehow. I had to think of something.
“Rafiq! Stop! I agree you shouldn’t whip Ivy. So I’ll take her punishment. Whip me instead. But please just stop!”
It worked! Both guys turned toward me, relaxing their aggressive postures. Their scowling faces brightened.
“Whip you instead? Why?” Asked Rafiq. But I could tell that he was receptive.
“Uh... Well, it isn’t right that you should whip Ivy.” I was having trouble articulating a sound reason why I should be whipped in her place.
“Well, what do you think, Skipper?” asked Rafiq. “Should we let Jenny take Ivy’s place, and I’ll give her a whipping?”
“Sure, why not? Kinda in the tradition of a whipping boy. Here you go,” said the Skipper, smiling as he handed Rafiq the whip. It was bizarre how quickly their animosity dissolved. Did the prospect of me getting a whipping have that kind of power?
I stood facing Rafiq. I was wearing short shorts and a grey cotton V-front athletic outerwear bra top. Although I waited for some instructions, he gave none. He just eyed me with the trace of a smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes ...and that menacing whip in his hand.
I had butterflies in my stomach. I was afraid of the whip, and yet in some perverse way excited by the prospect of being disciplined by Rafiq. And aroused at the prospect of sacrificing myself to spare someone else.
Finally he flicked the whip on my legs. It was not a hard stroke. But I bit my lip, perhaps instinctively trying to look coy. He laid the whip across my legs again, harder. Then again, and again. The whip made a whining hiss as it sliced air, then terminated in a resounding thack as it hit my flesh.
With each stroke he increased the intensity of the sting. I stood squirming, biting my lip. He continued lashing me vigorously on the legs. I was gasped audibly with each hard stroke. I knew my demeanor under the whip did not match Ivy’s brassy manner. But in general Ivy’s overconfident bearing is not something I can naturally aspire to, and certainly not under the duress of a whipping.
“Hey! Who said you could take those off?” It was the Skipper, addressing Ivy. She had taken the clips off her nipples.
“Oh. I thought Jenny had agreed to take my punishment. Shouldn’t she be wearing these? Do you want me to put them on her tits?”
Now that really annoyed me. Stopping an ugly fight by volunteering to take her whipping had nothing to do with volunteering to let her torment my nipples. “No. You may not put those on me.”
“All right. Then here.” Ivy handed the clips to the Skipper as if she expected him to put them on me.
“I don’t want those things on me, period. I only agreed to accept the punishment the Skipper wanted Rafiq to give you. You are not to volunteer me for anything else.”
Feeling up her breasts, the Skipper said, “Well Ivy, I guess I’ll have to put them back on you for the duration of Jenny’s whipping.”
Frowning at him, Ivy pushed his hand aside and crossed her arms over her breasts. “I don’t want those things on me the whole time. Rafiq is intentionally drawing it out for as long as he can. He hasn’t even made her take her clothes off yet.”
“So he hasn’t. But we’re patient, aren’t we? After all, she’s taking the punishment you deserve. In the meantime your nipples will just have to feel the pinch. Hands behind your head and let’s watch Jenny take a whipping.”
Frowning at him, Ivy acquiesced, slowly bringing her hands behind her head. The Skipper slipped behind her, placing his hands on her ribs just below the breasts. He did not immediately place the clips.
In the meantime April came up from below, looking a bit surprised at seeing both Ivy and me in trouble and being punished. She went over to James, and he spoke to her quietly, apparently about what was happening.
Rafiq gave me a hard stinging stroke wrapping around my thighs. Then another. And two more again.
“Well Jenny,” he said. “Are you ready to bare yourself?”
I hesitated. Since I was volunteering for this, couldn’t I ask for some latitude on the conditions? “I think I’m wearing little enough now. You’re not having any trouble finding bare skin to sting.”
“Whip you with your clothes on? Get real.” Then he lashed the whip onto the deck. It hit with a loud smack.
“Doesn’t sound as good as when it hits your flesh,” he said. “Listen.” He drew back the whip and snapped it hard across my ribs.
“Ow! Shit!” Instinctively I brought my arms to protect my body. The sting overwhelmed any notice of the sound.
“Off with the clothes, Jenny. If you give me a hard time, I’ll whip you extra.”
I eyed him for a moment. Was he making his transition from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde? Yet I didn’t think he would really harm me with the whip, sting though it may.
While trying to maintain a demure demeanor, I began to lift off my bra top, exposing the base of my breasts. But I stopped short of my nipples, and having decided to give Rafiq a hard time I said, “Somebody might see me.”
“Don’t worry, nobody’s watching,” Rafiq replied, smiling.
I glanced around. All eyes were on me. I said, “I can’t take my clothes off in front of everybody. If you want me naked, you’ll have to strip me.”
Partly I wanted the physical contact with Rafiq. Partly I just wanted to act bratty enough to feel that I deserved to be whipped.
I could see that Rafiq was enticed. He came around behind me. Not sure what I should do with my hands, I raised them to fluff out my hair.
“Oh...” I murmured as he pulled the stiff crop portion of the whip against the base of my breasts. I leaned my head back against his shoulder, offering no resistance. It’s hard to describe my emotion: a bit of fear mixed with this perverse yearning to have him punish me. A feeling that my sacrifice gave me an irresistible sexual allure.
Exposing my breasts, he pressed the stiff part of the whip onto my now stiff nipples. Pressing back against him, I looked up at him over my shoulder, still keeping my hands in my hair, letting him do as he wished with my body.
He left off harrying my breasts and pulled my top off over head. I turned around to him, putting my arms around his neck, perhaps partly to keep my bare front from being displayed to the all and sundry, but mostly just to hug him.
“I know I have to be whipped, but still...” I murmured to him before his lips met mine.
As we kissed, he loosened my shorts and drew them and my undies part way down. But they were much too snug for gravity alone to bring them the rest of way down. Feeling it more humiliating to have my butt out and shorts part way down than to be completely naked, I broke our embrace and took them the rest of the way down.
“There, are you satisfied now?” I sighed.
“Do you feel that your body was just made to be punished?”
“Well, it seems that you do, so I guess my fate is to suffer.”
“So it seems...” he said softly. Then he pulled the thong of the whip between my legs. As I again embraced him, he yanked it up into my slit. I winced.
“Hey, you need some good rope for that,” said the Skipper. Opening a storage compartment, he pulled out a coil of rope. Inwardly I groaned when I saw that he hadn’t picked out smooth-braided synthetic manila rope. No, he had to pick out that rough crappy sisal rope.
Keeping my knees together in no way impeded the Skipper from slipping the rope between my thighs. With Rafiq holding one end and the Skipper holding the other end, they pulled it up into my slit. Still embracing Rafiq, I bit my lip as they tugged up hard.
“Ease up, Rock,” said the Skipper. Rafiq relaxed his pull, allowing the Skipper to drag the rope through my crotch.
“Ooh... Please...” I moaned. Like a rasp, the rope scraped through my slit.
Back and forth, back and forth. Like they were sawing into my slit. My arms still around Rafiq’s neck, I held out for as long I could. But finally the grating was intolerable; I thought they would scrape me raw.
“No more. No more,” I cried clenching the rope to arrest their action.
“That doesn’t turn you on?” asked Rafiq.
“Oh-my-god, no. You’re hurting me.”
“How about if we try it more gently? See how it feels.”
As they eased their upward pull, I allowed them to draw the rope back and forth through my crotch, while I guided it with my hands.
“I don’t like it at all. Not after how rough you already were with it.”
“Here, then lick your juices off this thing,” said the Skipper, taking the rope and holding it to my mouth.
I glanced at Ivy, April, and James. All were watching me. “No,” I said. “I only volunteered to be whipped. Not to be sexually humiliated.”
“No problem. I’m ready to give you the whipping that you want,” said Rafiq.
“Plus a hundred or so extra strokes for being sassy,” added the Skipper.
“Oh no.” It sounded like I was in for a lengthy whipping. Well, at least it was not too nasty a whip. Yes, it definitely stung, but I felt I could handle it – on the butt, on the legs, or on the back. But I didn’t much want to get it on the front ...or between the legs.
Rafiq took up the whip and stepped back. The Skipper returned to Ivy.
“Hands back on your head,” the Skipper said to her. Ivy obeyed. Standing again behind her, he started playing with her breasts with one hand. Although she kept her knees together, his other hand went to her crotch She grimaced and squirmed a bit, but did not resist.
Then I looked at Rafiq. He was holding the whip, eyeing my breasts. I felt vulnerable. But I kept my hands at my sides.
Rafiq said to me,“Turn around and bend over. Hold onto the bulkhead, arms straight forward.” I was relieved that he wasn’t going to whip me on the front.
Swish...thack! The whip snapped across my butt. Swish...thack! Again. And then again. And again. Breathing hard, I held my position.
He got up a good rhythm on me. Hard strokes, one after another across my butt and thighs. I voiced a loud gasp with every stroke; it’s more satisfying to both of us that way. Still, I wasn’t exaggerating; the whip stung.
How long this went on, I’m not really sure. The rhythm was hypnotic. But it must have been many dozens of strokes.
Finally he paused. He passed his hand over my butt and then down my thighs. Then he said, “Spread your legs more.”
I looked back at him, trying to gage his intent. I had no wish to be whipped on the pussy. But I obeyed, moving my feet somewhat apart, but only to the width of my shoulders.
Then he lashed the whip across my rear end again several times. I felt more vulnerable with legs apart.
“Arch your back down more. Get your butt up there. ...That’s better.”
He cracked the whip on my butt a few more times. Then lashed me further down, wrapping it to the inside of the thigh. “Ow.” Too close for comfort. Then again. “Ooh!” And again, and again, and again, high on the inside of the thigh. “Ah! Please be careful. Do you know where you’re almost hitting me?” I was squirming.
Rafiq paused and passed his fingers over my pussy. Then he slid his finger into my cleft, probing into my vagina. “Rafiq!” I brought my hand back fend him off. I didn’t want him sticking his fingers inside me out here in front of everybody.
Saying, “Just the whip, that’s all you want,” he left off with his fingers, and took a step back. I resumed my position, hands forward on the bulkhead.
From the sound of the swish, it didn’t sound like a hard stroke coming, but... “Ooh!” He stung me right on the pussy. Then another, harder. I yelped. And another, hard. “Ow-ow-ow! Please no.” Writhing, I brought my legs together.
“Legs wide apart. Take your whipping.”
“Oh please, not too hard.” I crept my legs apart, nursing my pussy with one hand. Resuming my position with both hands on the bulkhead, I held my breath, waiting.
Swish...thack! “OOOH!” He stung me on the pussy again. Swish...thack! “AHHH!” Swish...thack! “AHHH! No... Please no.”
Skipper rejoined, “Yeah, whip that pussy. Sting her clit.”
Rafiq continued snapping it on my pussy again and again. I cried out with each stroke. Finally, after a particularly wickedly aimed cut, I let out a screech and broke my position. Turning half way toward him I dropped to the deck and sat on my heels, nursing my pussy.
“Oh, please. That hurts so much.” Then glancing at the Skipper and Ivy, I saw that Ivy’s face was contorted with pain. Then I saw that the clips were fastened to her pussy. It looked like both of them were biting into the clit. Still, however, she maintained her hands behind her head.
I wondered which one of us was hurting worse. I though it must be me because she could maintain her position in silence, and I could not. But there was no way to know. Maybe she is just stronger than me.
Not wanting to seem pitifully weak, I said, “Can’t you just whip me in a normal way? Anywhere else, but not down there.”
“Okay, how about on the tits now?”
“Oh please. Not there either. Not with that whip.” I quickly got up and resumed my position, bent over arms straight forward, holding the bulkhead, but keeping my legs closer together. I arched my back to present him with as much encouragement as possible to lash me on the butt.
He took up the invitation and cracked the whip really hard across my butt. Then again. And again. He snapped another dozen strokes across my butt and thighs, so hard I cried out with every one.
He finally paused, and clasping the thong against the crop handle, began stroking the crop back and forth on my breasts. “Those tits of yours need a really good whipping, don’t they?”
I squirmed, realizing that bent over with arched back, arms straight forward, my breasts were offering encouragement for harassment.
“It’s the softness that makes them so good to whip.” He tapped at my breast, jiggling it. “Now straighten up and face me.”
I stood and turned to face him, crossing my arms over my breasts.
“Pretending to be modest?” chided Rafiq. “Hands behind your head.”
“Oh please don’t whip me on the front.”
After eyeing me for a moment, Rafiq set down the whip and took up the cane. A wave of anxiety swept over me. I didn’t want anybody to even touch my breasts with that.
Slowing he drew it back. Whoosh-thackkkk! Hard across the front of my thighs. “Ooooh!” That really stung. ...Whoosh-thackkkk! ...Whoosh-thackkkk! ...Whoosh-thackkkk! Like fire across my thighs, then across my hips, then across my stomach. “Ow, ow, ow! Shit, that’s too hard! You’re really hurting me.”
He snapped it twice more across my stomach so hard, then twice across my arms held protectively across my breasts. What had I done to deserve being beaten like this?
“Are you going to put your hands behind your head?”
“Oh-my-god no. If you hit me like that on the breasts, I’ll just die.”
He lowered the cane and passed his hand over the welts he had raised across my stomach. I took this opportunity also to rub the stinging welts, while keeping my breasts covered with one arm.
“So you don’t want me to put the cane to your tits. You’d rather get it with the whip.”
“I’d rather not get it at all on the... tits. Besides, haven’t I been punished enough? And Ivy too?”
“Think so? Well, maybe we should see how other people feel. Everyone who thinks Jenny’s had enough say ‘aye’.”
“Aye!” Ivy, April, and I called out in unison. Rafiq, James, and the Skipper were silent.
“Sorry, Jenny. Tie vote. Not a majority. I guess we stick with the status quo. You’ve got more strokes coming. ...Now, on your knees.”
I frowned at him for several moments, then reluctantly knelt before him.
“Stable posture, knees apart.”
I looked up at his face to try to read his intentions. It wasn’t clear what he was up to. But since he was standing to my right, there seemed no immediately threat of him swatting me on the pussy. I crept my knees apart, my eyes never leaving his.
“Hands behind head.” He tapped the cane on my arms, still protectively crossed over my chest. “Now,” he added forcefully, as I hesitated.
“Rafiq...” I whined. “That isn’t right.”
“Heyyy... What’s the problem? Lack of trust?” He gave me a sly smile as he slid the cane up and down my stomach.
I searched his face. I remembered that he had intervened to stop Ivy from caning my breasts. I decided to acquiesce. I slowly raised my arms and placed my hands behind my head. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes, straightened and thrust out my chest, elbows back, head turned away, offering myself up completely.
He slid the cane up and down my breasts. I tried not to react to it as he bumped it over my nipples. Of course they were really stiff. I wondered if people thought I was erotically stimulated at the prospect of being caned on the breasts.
He continued harrying my nipples with the cane. And hands beyond head, I continued kneeling, offering my breasts to be beaten, but trusting that they would not be.
Finally he took hold of my nipple, tugged sharply upward, and gave the base of my breast a smart rap with the cane. I let out a gasp, perhaps more startled at having my nipple so ill-used than being rapped on the softness of the breast.
He continued yanking on my nipple, and again rapped on my breast with the cane. Then again. And again. And several more times. I was breathing rapidly, but I held my position.
Relenting, he finally released my nipple. I exhaled in relief. For the briefest moment I brought my hand down to touch my breast, but quickly returned it behind my head.
Rafiq then pinched hold of the other nipple, yanked upward, and rapped sharply on the lower part of my breast. He continued with what seemed like a dozen raps, as I grimaced and panted and squirmed.
Finally he released my nipple. I sat back on my heels, cradling my breasts. “You just beat me on the tits.” ...That was a bit of an exaggeration.
“Did that really hurt?” asked Rafiq. He seemed skeptical.
Ignoring the question, I pouted, “You were yanking on my nipples like they’re some kind of knobs for holding onto me.”
The Skipper chimed in, “Yeah. Grip those knobs and shake her titties.”
I held my arms tightly across my breasts. I didn’t want anybody shaking me by the nipples. I glanced around. Skipper had taken the clips off Ivy’s clit and was reapplying them to her nipples. She had this look of resignation.
Meanwhile, James, standing behind April, had lifted her bikini top above her breasts. He had taken hold of her nipples and was lightly swaying her jugs back and forth. April was biting her lip. She held her hands close beside her breasts, ready to arrest his action, but she allowed him to continue.
Was I disturbed that all the guys were now besetting all the girls? No, at least now I wasn’t the only one on the receiving end. ...And yet, it almost felt like something was missing for my ordeal not to be the center of everyone’s attention.
“Arch yourself backwards, like in the camel posture.” Rafiq was referring to the yoga posture ushtra-asana, one of the postures I had taught him over the last couple days. You begin while sitting on your heels, shins on the floor, just as I was then sitting. Clasping your ankles, you lift your butt off your heels, and thrust your hips upward and forward, arching your back as far as possible and tilting the head back. In that kind of backward arching posture, chest thrust upwards, crotch thrust forward, you’d be extremely vulnerable confronting a whip or cane.
Not acceding to his command, I whined, “Rafiq. Not with the cane. I don’t want you to keep threatening to cane me on the front.”
“Not the cane? You’d rather have the whip. All right, I’ll give you the whip. Just lean back and I’ll give it to you good.”
Skipper chimed in, “Yeah, put the the whip to her girl flesh. Sting those nipples good.”
“Rafiq, oh please...”
“Come on, Jenny. You need a challenge.”
I glanced around. Skipper was drumming the clips on Ivy’s nipples up and down. The jiggling of her breasts really arrested my gaze. Ivy’s eyes were squinched such, her mouth open, but she held her posture in silence, hands behind head.
I looked at April. From behind, James was squeezing his fingers into her fat jugs as though kneading dough. April was still biting her lip, but her expression was receptive.
Could I be less brave than Ivy and April? I glanced up at Rafiq. Without another word, I took hold of my ankles, thrust my hips up and forward, and arched back to the ushtra-asana.
Rafiq fondled my upthrust breasts, pressing his thumbs into my nipples, making circular motions. It was more forceful than I like having my breasts handled, but I held my position, breathing shallowly. Better to have him playing with my breasts than whipping them.
Finally his hand left my breasts and passed up and down my ribs for a time, then onto my stomach. His finger poked hard into my belly button. It pressed this way and that, as if searching for a passage inward. Finally, as if giving up that my belly button lead anywhere, his fingers moved lower. I was starting to tire; this posture is not one that anybody holds indefinitely.
His fingers passed over my clit, going around and around in a circular motion. But this position was getting too uncomfortable for me to be able to get turned on. His finger then slid down my cleft. The next thing I knew he was sticking it up my tunnel. Whoa! That was entirely enough.
I dropped out of that posture, returning to sitting on my heels. His stupid hand, with its inserted finger, followed me down. I grabbed his arm and pushed it away. “Rafiq! Quit it!”
I glanced around, distressed at being humiliated like this before an audience. But April and James were taking no notice of me. James, still standing behind April, had wrapped the sisal rope around her body several times, right across her breasts. April is so stacked, it was digging deeply into the flesh of her breasts. It was like she was wearing a special punishment bra. I could hardly take my eyes off her. I had never imagined April submitting to such treatment.
I looked over at Ivy. Her eyes were closed. She had her own problems with the Skipper pulling on the chain to the clips on her tormented nipples. Only the Skipper, still behind Ivy, had his eyes on me. Seeing that he had my attention, he pointed at me, made a gesture of slapping his cheek, and then pointed at Rafiq, indicating that I should slap Rafiq for publicly finger-fucking me.
I considered that for only a split second before realizing that the Skipper just wanted to give Rafiq a reason to whip me even more and even harder. Unsure that I could handle what was already coming, I was not going to invite more.
“Back into position,” ordered Rafiq.
“That’s too tiring. Nobody holds that position very long.” Instead, remaining seated on my heals, I leaned back, my hands on the deck behind me. Although my knees were still apart, my pussy seemed less vulnerable in this position, but it still felt like I was acquiescing to getting my breasts whipped.
I looked up at him. His eyes were on my body. Was he seeing me, or just some sex object?
Biting my lip, I squinched my eyes shut and leaned my head back. I didn’t want to see it coming. Then I heard the hiss of the whip slicing air. With a loud ‘thack’ it stung me across the ribs.
Then again, this time across the stomach. Then another. Again and again, gradually moving up my ribs. Each with that hissing swish, that loud thack, that biting sting. I punctuated each with a gasp.
Holding my position, I kept my eyes closed, head tilted back and away. Sound and sting, that was my world now. Sound and sting, but mostly sting.
The whip strokes were moving closer and closer to my chest. I knew what was coming. I knew he would never be satisfied until he had whipped me on the breasts. All right. I would see how much I could take. I held my position, arms back leaning on the deck, chest thrust out, inviting the whip.
Swish...thack. He stung me on the base of the breast. Then again, and again. I held on, each time hoping it wouldn’t get me across the nipples.
Swish...thack!. “OOOH!” That one caught me on the left nipple. It really hurt. Swish...thack! “AHHH!” Hard on the right nipple.
Then two more lightning strikes to the nipples. My cries had turned to shrieks. My nipples were on fire. How much more could I take?
Swish...thack, again stinging my nipples. “Ow-ow-ow!” ...And still again, Swish...thack. “EEEEE...” I broke my position, taking my breasts in my hands, trying to rub out the sting. “My tits. My tits...”
“Yeah, your tits. Your tits are so good. Rub them up.”
He made it sound like I was trying to turn people on by playing with my breasts. I glanced around. All eyes were on me. ...But what did it matter what they thought. Right now my nipples were on fire.
Swish...thack. He laid a stroke across the front of the thighs. “Back into position. I’ll spare your breasts for now,” he said.
Slowly I brought my hands back onto the deck behind me, and leaned back, thighs apart, offering everything in front to the whip, trusting that he would give my breasts a respite.
Swish...thack! “Ooh.” It was to the inside of the thigh, but so close to the pussy. At least in this position my labia would not be so open.
Swish...thack! “Ooooh!” That time he stung my pussy lips. Swish...thack! “Ow! Please...” Another one right in the pussy. My legs lurched but I resisted the urge to bring them together. Could I take the whipping he wanted to give me?
Again on the pussy. Thack! “AHHH!” And then again. “OOOOH!” Despite my efforts to accept my whipping, my legs were inching closer together. Thack! “EEEEEE!” That one stung my clit so bad.
I broke my position, bringing my thighs together and hands forward to my crotch. My fingers told me that my clit was still intact, something I would not have guessed from the stinging pain emanating from it.
Swish...thack. “Ahhhhh!” Denied access to my pussy, he now laid a hard stroke across the breasts. I brought one arm up to protect myself. He aimed several more strokes across my chest, while I protected my breasts with one hand and forearm, while nursing my pussy with the other hand.
But now he tugged my hand away and forced his hand between my thighs, first pressing on my sore clit and then further below. “You’re moist. That’s good. Glad you’re enjoying this. Now let’s lay you on the table here and finish you off. Whip you till you cum.”
“Oh please don’t whip me anymore,” I replied. But I was so taken aback by the idea that I would be enjoying such punishment that my words came out sounding feeble and unconvincing,
“Come on. On the table with you,” insisted Rafiq. “This is the whipping you need and want.”
Acquiescing, I got up off the deck and approached the table extending out of the bulkhead. I laid my body on it, chest down, feet remaining on the deck. I kept my legs together – I didn’t want any more lashes on the pussy.
He set aside the whip and took up the cane again. Then he swatted me on the butt. “OW!” Then a really hard, stinging stroke to the back of the thighs. “OOOH!”
He laid about a dozen more strokes across my butt and the backs of my thighs. I cried out with each one. How I hate the cane. He was hitting so hard. But such a confusion of sensations. Why was I sexually aroused? Would I be able to come off like this?
Pausing the cane strokes and feeling my bottom with his hand, Rafiq said, “Actually, I intended that you lay on your back. Putting the cane to your butt is good, but I really love laying the whip on your front.”
I knew it was no use arguing. The sensuality of a girl’s front makes it a prime target. But for me at least it would mean trading that villainous cane for the not quite so dreadful whip. Still, I knew he would aim for the breasts. But I wanted to be brave enough to accept whipping he wanted to give me.
Slowly I turned myself over, watching him as he set aside the cane and took up the whip. The small of my back on the edge of the table, my feet remained on the floor. Arched back like this, it seemed like the ultimate surrender of my body to him. Now casting my arms beyond my head, I completed a total surrender to his whims, trusting that he would not bring me to harm.
Laying his hand on my ribs, he began feeling up my body. His hand passed slowly and sensuously over my stomach, again over my ribs, and onto my breasts. Eyes closed, I arched to meet his caress.
“Here, take this in your mouth.” His hard penis bumped my cheek.
Turned my head to him, I took it into my mouth, sucking and working it with my tongue. If I could get him to come off, my punishment would finally end. ...But still, I wanted to be able to come off too.
I continued sucking as his fingers swirled circles around my nipples. Yet this was strange – an ordinary caress seemed almost anticlimactic. Was my body now harmonized only to hard treatment?
The Skipper’s voice now intruded. “Ivy, your task is to service Jenny with your mouth. I want you to lick her off good.”
I stopped sucking, letting Rafiq’s penis come away from my mouth. I had to see what was going to happen. Ivy said nothing, but kneeling between my legs, she brought her mouth to my crotch and lightly licked the labia. I knew immediately that despite the travail of our situation – she was still suffering those nipple-pinching clips – she would approach her task with finesse.
“Ivy,” said the Skipper. “While you’re pleasuring Jenny, I think you need your own stimulation. Let me strap this butterfly vibrator on you.”
Don’t ask me why the Skipper had a butterfly vibrator. I have no idea.
As Ivy continued tonguing me, I tried to watch as the Skipper put the butterfly vibrator on her. But Rafiq imposed upon me. Flicking the whip across my ribs, he pressed his penis back into my face. I again took it into my mouth and worked it with my tongue. He continued flicking the whip lightly on the far side of my ribs.
I thought he was being gentle because I was giving him such a good blow job. ...But then I realized that to give him a blow job, he had to stay too close to hit me hard.
This went on for a little while until the Skipper, now apparently done with Ivy, interjected, “Gimme that whip. You can’t get her from that position.”
Uh-oh. Now I was in for it. . The only kind of whipping I could expect from the Skipper was a hard one. As he yielded the whip to the Skipper, I started sucking feverishly on Rafiq’s penis. I had to get him to come off if this ordeal was ever going to end.
Swish...thack! The Skipper laid a hard stroke across my ribs. Swish...thackk! On the base of the breast. I gave a jolt but continued sucking.
Swish...thackk! “Umph!” He stung me hard on the nipple. Wincing with the pain, I continued my task.
Swish...thackk! Right on the other nipple, hard. I couldn’t help letting out a gasp.
“Yeah. Did you feel that?” asked the Skipper. “A good one, huh? Put the sting to those nipples of yours.” He stroked my breast with his hand, but then took hold of the nipple and gave it a sharp pinch.
Then he stepped back and raised the whip. Swish...thackk! Back on the first nipple again. “Ahhhhh!” I let out a cry, turned away from Rafiq’s penis, and brought my arm down to protect myself.
“April. You need to hold Jenny’s arms,” said Skipper. “Hold her down good.”
April stepped over and I surrendered my arms to her. James had released her breasts from the tightly bound rope but the indentation lines were apparent, leading right across her nipples. Her big jugs hung over my face as she bent over me. James was right behind her, now squeezing her breasts, now slapping her breasts, jiggling them crazily. It occurred to me that he might have entered her from behind, but I couldn’t tell.
Rafiq then thrust his penis in my face and I took it into my mouth, working it with my tongue. Skipper then gave me a couple of whip strokes across the ribs. But then it was back on the breasts, one hard stroke after another.
I continued sucking on Rafiq’s penis while the Skipper rained whip stroke after whip stroke onto my breasts. Above the nipples, below the nipples, but especially right on the nipples, so hard. With each stroke I wrenched. Yet I continued sucking. I had to finish this job.
And through all this torment, Ivy was tonguing my clit, forcing me toward sexual arousal. I wanted that pleasure. But the Skipper kept stinging my nipples so bad. My tits were on fire.
I wanted it to stop. I wanted it to go on. I didn’t know what I wanted.
Yet I saw that it didn’t matter what I wanted. Here was a reality to be experienced, not evaluated. April holding my arms, her big jugs flopping above my face as James slapped them back and forth. Rafiq’s big hard penis in my mouth; me doing my utmost to pleasure him. Skipper’s hard whip strokes scorching my breasts, my nipples now burning like red-hot coals. And Ivy’s wet tongue on my clit, impelling me onward toward orgasm.
And at the center of the whole thing was me, feeling like a Siren, irresistibly drawing these people into delirious sexual mayhem. For that, it seemed right that I should be the one to suffer the most. Hard though they used me, it now felt that I was controlling them, not them controlling me.
“You’re so good. So good,” moaned Rafiq. And with that his penis began pulsing gooey oil-of-life into my mouth. Grunting bullishly he pressed into my face.
Encircled by all this sexual madness, I knew I could not contain my own. My sucking mouth, my stinging breasts, my tingling pussy.
Swish...thackk! The Skipper laid the whip hard, again right across both nipples. Waves of orgasmic energy reverberated through my body, like an sonic aura borealis undulating through my consciousness.
Opposites converged, splintered, converged again, and splintered again. ...Pain. Pleasure. ...Bitter. Sweet. ...Male. Female. ...Yin. Yang. ...Death. Birth. ...Dissolution. Unity. ...Matter. Antimatter, colliding within my body, mind.
Intolerable pleasure. Exquisite pain. Music beyond the bounds of rhythm or melody played though my body. Colors beyond the limits of the spectrum glimmered though my mind.
My body underwent the entire universe of sensation suffered or savored since the dawn of time. I was a black hole sucking in the galaxy of sexual passion of all who surrounded me. Their desire to act upon me fed my craving to be acted upon. Their action. My satisfaction.
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